A Christmas Companion
by angelofnight
Summary: Post POTO: Christine is having a hard holiday season when her child suddenly starts exhibiting signs that someone is giving her music lessons. One-shot. Susan Kay based. Merry Christmas everybody!


The house was quiet with Raoul away.

Christine always hated when her husband had to leave on business. But the de Chagney estate and business ventures were so vast, it was impossible for him to get things done entirely from home. He would always return as quickly as possible to spend all the time he possibly could with his family; but it simply wasn't easy for him to go from one place to the other swiftly, and still do a good job of keeping their fortunes promising.

But this time, it just felt so much harder to survive his absence. Earlier that year, their daughter Gabrielle had fallen ill with a terrible fever and cough, her throat swelling up like a frogs' and a red rash like sandpaper covering most of her body. Every time it seemed she would start to recover, the fever would return with a sudden wave that nearly drowned the poor child under its' malicious intent. With such a sore and swollen throat, six-year-old Gabrielle had been completely voiceless unless she wanted to suffer what seemed to be untold physical agony.

Learning that the child would have to be incredibly cautious of any future cold or fever made Christine's heart break. It was bad enough that the servants' children avoided her daughter for fear of getting into trouble. Peers were a geographical distance away, and certainly no other aristocrat would have their child playing with such a sickly little girl for fear of either making her relapse or giving their own child something horrible. She wondered how lonely it would be for Gabrielle. When she was older, would her sickly reputation keep her from being courted and married? Was she doomed to live a lonely existence?  
Christine felt especially lonely herself. While their daughter had been so ill, Raoul had barely gotten a single bit of work done. He'd delegated it to the best of his distracted ability, but now he was working overtime to catch up and fix mistakes that had been made in his absence. He even feared having to travel to America just to make a prominent business deal.

Having once been an Opera singer, she was tolerated but not embraced by Raoul's caste. She wasn't especially invited to tea or luncheon, not even to parties. When Raoul was away, her social life became almost non-existent – except for the fact that sometimes Meg Giry would come to visit for a few days.

And it was coming on Christmas. What kind of Christmas could a little girl possibly have when the father who was wrapped around her little finger was dozens of miles away and unable to return home? The feast would feel lonely, and the child was still far too young to risk attending Christmas Mass.

Sighing, Christine stood up from a needlepoint project she had been working on for lack of anything better to do. She was good at keeping the estate running. The servants were respectful of her because she understood and respected them. They all did their best to help lighten her emotional burdens. But they still were not family or friend. They were employees and never let her forget it, even if she wanted to from time-to-time.

There was a knock at the door, and she looked up to see little Gabrielle's nursemaid and governess step quietly into the room. She had an amused smile on her face, but Christine noted immediately that the older woman was confused by something.

"What can I do for you, Brigid?" she asked with a return amused smile, as if already in on an untold joke.

"Madame … does Gabby have a new imaginary friend that I've not been told about?" the woman asked.

She had recently taken a small holiday away from the estate to visit her brother with his family in Paris. Gabrielle's illness had been exhausting for both women, and Christine had been happy to see her go for a bit of relaxation – and even more happy to see her return.

"No..." Puzzled, Christine couldn't help but tilt her head quizzically. "Has she said something?"

"Not to me." Brigid stated with a shrug. "But she's in the music room plugging away at that old piano. It sounds like it's been recently tuned, too. Did you have-"

"-I've had no one come in." Christine interrupted quickly. "You know the Vicomte doesn't care highly for music in the house. He likes things quiet and serene unless we're entertaining guests."

Brigid sighed, shaking her head a little.

"Well … she's doing fairly well for a child that wasn't yet taking lessons when I left."

Bemused, Christine finished packing away thread and needle before motioning for Brigid to lead the way.

"Let's here." she suggested. "My father was a violinist. I was in the Opera. Maybe she just has a good ear."

"Perhaps..." Brigid agreed dutifully, looking skeptical.

They crept along the hallway towards the back of the mansion, listening as the strains of what Christine realized with a start was _Ach, Ich f_ _ü_ _hl's_ – an aria from The Magic Flute. It wasn't uncommon for Gabrielle to know the melody of an aria – given how prone Christine was to humming them on most days. But to be playing an aria on the piano when she hadn't taken a single lesson was another impressive feat entirely.

Christine lightly pressed her fingertips to a door that Brigid had obviously left ajar, and peered through the three-inch gap to see her little girls back to her. Gabrielle was bent attentatively over the keys of the grand piano – which did indeed sound turned – plugging away at the melody. Her right hand played out the vocal arrangement, while her left assisted with a few simple notes. It was clearly a childish version of a song, but the song itself was still clearly identifiable.

Christine raised an impressed eyebrow at Brigid, and was just opening her mouth to ask another question when her daughter abruptly stopped playing. She froze, glancing at the door, certain her daughter had sensed her there and was turning to accuse her of spying. But she didn't.

Instead, the child was looking up over the open top to the piano, as if looking at an instructor.

"I don't want to play this anymore." she stated in something that was far too scratchy and soft to be a whine. Her voice still had yet to fully recover from the fever. It seemed no amount of tea or medicine made it better for very long. "You said I could sing when I got better. Aren't I better yet?"

For a moment, Christine felt a chill sweep over her body. It felt as though a goose had walked over her grave, and a hand lifted up to try and still her suddenly pounding heart. She pressed the door open just a little wider, nearly stepping into the room.

The door creaked, and finally the child spun around, her eyes alight when she saw her mother standing there.

"Hi, _maman_!" she squeaked. "Did you hear me playing?"  
"Yes, _ma petite_." Christine smiled broadly. "Where did you learn how to play like that?"

The child glanced over her shoulder to almost the exact same spot she'd been staring at moments before. She looked like she was listening to something, and then smiled sheepishly at Christine.

"I … don't know..." she replied in an all-too-innocent tone that all parents knew to treat with a certain amount of skepticism.

"Did you find an instruction book?" Christine tried a different, hopeful approach.

"No... I just … learned."

Christine decided to let the subject go. She was being silly. As she'd told Brigid earlier, her daughter was the product of two generations of musicians. Even Raoul had a certain amount of untrained natural talent. Why shouldn't Gabrielle?

" _Maman_ , may we go listen to the carolers?"

The nearby town was small, but sturdy enough to support a lot of holiday cheer. Christine smiled at her daughter broadly.

"Do you promise to stay in the carriage with the blankets?"  
"Of course!"

"Well then... I don't see why not. The doctor said it would be all right for you to get some fresh air now."

A week later, Gabrielle's voice finally seemed to have restored itself. The cook in the kitchen had been asking Christine permission all week to give the little girl very specific foods and drinks, insisting the child had asked for them by name and amount. It puzzled Christine, as she recognized every single one from a period in time she'd spent below the Opera House, barely suffering at all from a sniffling cold but still enduring the unforgiving regime of her mentor. How could Gabrielle possibly be asking for such things? Surely the cook was just trying to make her agree to such a diet because a relative had some knowledge … or perhaps even the cook himself did?

"Madame..."

This time, Brigid interrupted Christine while she placed a few special packages under their Christmas tree. She liked the quaint tradition; but was terrified of the house catching fire so refused to have candles lit on the quickly dried-out pine boughs. Raoul would be coming home in no less than two weeks, meaning he would miss not only the Christmas holiday, but also the New Year. To remind them that he loved and missed them, he'd sent several expensive presents meant to surprise his daughter, each already wrapped in equisite paper.

"She's talking to her imaginary friend again!"

Christine almost waved the woman off, but then decided her decorations could wait another few minutes. What was the point in worrying about Christmas decorations when Gabrielle wouldn't even notice, and Christine just barely cared since her husband would be missing?

She returned to the music room, this time keeping the door barely ajar as she listened.

This time Gabrielle wasn't just playing the piano. She was singing. Her voice was, indeed, quite fully recovered from her terrible fever. She was running scales, pausing every now and again as if receiving instruction. Christine could almost hear her own mental voice correcting each mistake her daughter was intuitively pausing to fix all by herself.

 _No, no … you breath on the F sharp on this scale, or you whill never make the run._ she thought in her old mentors patient but strict voice. The memory made her smile, and finally she pushed the door open.

Gabrielle paused in her singing, but not to look over at her mother. This time Christine was too quick with the door for it to squeak loudly in protest. She was able to look at her little girls' nearly perfect stance, and watch as the child took careful breath after careful breath.

After several runs of the scale, the little girl jumped slightly, gleefully, on the balls of her feet and clapped her hands eagerly.

"May I sing now, _Monsieur_? You promised!"

Christine's eyebrows went up almost into her hairline.

 _Monsieur? Surely an imaginary friend would be allowed a less formal form of address?_

Her daughter pouted prettily as if she'd been denied something.

"But you _promised, Monsieur_!" she insisted.

Christine felt amusement wash over her. It had nothing to do with her own amusement, either, which startled her a bit. She glanced over to see if perhaps she was sensing Brigid's attempt to keep a chuckle to herself … but the nursemaid had left the corridor entirely. She turned back to her daughter and stepped quietly – fully - into the room. Gabrielle was too occupied with her imaginary friend to notice her this time.

Whatever was running through her imagination, Gabrielle's silent companion must have said something that pleased her. Her entire face lit up. As Christine watched, her daughter's face became nearly beatific as she straightened up, took in a deep breath, and let loose a very simple traditional carol, her voice stunningly pure for one so young and who had so recently been so ill.

"Jesus our brother, kind and good

Was humbly born in a stable rude.

And the friendly beasts around Him stood,

Jesus our brother, kind and good."

Christine wasn't surprised at all by the song. What astounded her was her daughter's preccocious technique. She was behaving as if she'd had intensive voice lessons, and the reults of her discipline were obvious.

She was going to turn away and sneak out, but something stopped her. It was as if she could feel warmth enveloping her. A hand seemed to be near her face suddenly, and she found herself glancing down to see if someone was trying to cup her chin and cheek in a gentle caress. There was so much warmth. Not the temperature of the room, of course. No. This was … love … confidence … happiness. She glanced briefly over her shoulder to see that her daughter had pivoted on her feet and was staring brightly and proudly at her mother without losing a breath, a beat, or a note. Christine stood stock-still, transfixed, proud, and trembling with emotion.

Finally the room fell quiet for just a moment. And in the silence, Christine could easily have sworn that she heard a voice. Her daughter tilted her head in the exact same familiar way that she always did when Raoul smoothed back her hair. She looked exactly as if someone were touching her.

 _That's my girl... Go on to your mother now._

"But what about Schubert?" her daughter piped up. "You said you would sing Schubert if I did really well. I _did_ do well … _didn't_ I?"

Christine turned fully back to her daughter.

"Gabrielle … who are you speaking to?" she asked breathlessly. "Who taught you how to sing?"

Her daughter gave an impish smile, as if they shared a secret, then started to half-skip her way by and out of the room.

"My angel." she said simply. "He said that he didn't want me to feel so lonely, so he promised to keep me company when _Papa_ is away. He's our friend."

" _Our?"_ Christine demanded in shock. She was following her child quickly down the hallway and towards the kitchen – where no doubt the little rascal intended to steal a cookie when the cooks' back was turned.

"Our Angel. He said that if you didn't want the music anymore that I could have it... but he'll always be your angel, too."

Christine stopped, staring after her daughter.

"What is his name?" she called out almost desperately.

But her daughter was gone.

That evening, when Gabrielle asked if they could make a special gift for her friend, Christine didn't object. She even helped the child to create an ornament for the tree made out of paper and wire. It was a cut out shape of a flying angel with a harp – Gabrielle's idea entirely.

"I wanted to do a violin... but that would be too hard!" the child claimed. "He plays the violin _all the time_... Have you ever heard an angel play the violin, _Maman_?"

Christine only offered a strained smile.

Before bed, Gabrielle went to play in the music room again, this time plunking away at the same carol she'd sung earlier in the day. It wasn't as obvious as the aria in terms of sudden skill, and Christine wondered if … maybe Gabrielle felt alone again.

Even though she closed the paino in her daughters' absence, she could still hear the faint echoes of a much more intricate song floating around her. Accompanied by a voice...

 _Yes, it is I! I love you!_

 _Despite all the efforts_

 _of that mocking devil,_

 _I have found found you again,_

 _Your are saved,_

 _It is I, come, come to my heart!_

"Thank you, Erik..." she whispered, closing her eyes. "I'm glad she could keep you company … Merry Christmas, _mon ange_..."


End file.
